


Killing Type

by a_nonny_moose



Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 19:09:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12087498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Inspired by Killing Type by Amanda Palmer, requested by Anonymous via tumblr!





	Killing Type

Somehow, it had come down to this. 

[[MORE]]

Dr. Iplier had barricaded himself in his room, still holding on to life as best he could. He was almost faded– he listened to Dark suck the life out of the other Egos, listened to the fury of his aura consuming the office.

Somehow, it had come down to the two of them. 

Dr. Iplier looked down at the knife in his hands. Wilford’s knife, handle worn from constantly being in his hand, but blade sharper than even his own scalpels. The sight of the knife was too painfully familiar, now. Painful to see without it’s owner. 

It hadn’t saved Wilford, but maybe it’d save him. 

Dr. Iplier clutched the handle tighter, listening. Dark was closing in on him, ringing nearly outside the door. He had to breathe. He had to breathe.

With a crash, the door was thrown open, the chairs stacked in front of it going flying. The Doctor ducked, covering his head. When he looked up again, Dark was standing over him, practically floating in the midst of his aura. 

“ **Ḑ҉̻̬̥̱̤̙̖̕o̧̙̰̪̺͍̪͘c͏̣͓̩̗͓̤̳͍t̗̝̰͇̘͎͎̰o̷̡͖̬͎r̘͙̞̼̥̟** ,” he smiled, every tooth sharpened to a point. Miasma dripped around him, from his eyes, around his head. “ **H̭͍̲̗͔͞o̼w̧̨͚̱͡ ̖̖n̼̭̜̯̱͕͞į̨͈̘̠͝ͅc͏̙̥̣̫͚͙̖ͅe̷͏͏͓̯̱̘̪ ̼̫͉̝̺̙͓͝t̬̳͈̬̺̞o͓̲̗̻̹̦͟ ̨̭͔̥̞͚͓͡ͅş̲̼͓͈̞e̢̼͓e̤̮̕͢ ͔̤͜͡ỵ͇̻̝̝͈o̮̞̤̺ͅu̹̜̠̕͜.̡̬̱̬̯̲̫̦̞͜** ”

“Likewise,” Dr. Iplier spat, jumping to his feet. He felt the world swim around him He was weak, too weak. Not much time left.  


Dark sneered, looking at the knife in his hand. “ **Ą̙r̛̯̘̫͍͎͉̕͠e̟͚̙͖̞͝ ̮̤̝̫y͏̣͔͕o̦͍̫͙͞u̴̡̼̭ ̖͟g͕̥̗͙͖̭̤̖͜ͅo̢̗͖͇̹͕̺̮̻̣i͇͓̠̪̝͚̫̖͞n̥̯̺̰͉̳̗̞͢g̪̼̥̮͢ ̷͚͖̼͡t̯͓̥͉̜̤͡o͖͞ ̡̨̟̜̯̝ͅs̡̝͔͘t̮͙a̶̖̟b҉̼͉̭̘͠͡ ̛̳̼͕̲̕m̛͍̳̻̞̫̻ͅe̳̤͔͘,̡̛̙̝͕ ̺̗̠̗͔͙͕͘͘D̵͏͍̣̯̤͢ǫ̩͍̯c̩̝̱t̛͏̱͚̗̹͚͍̫͚͞ͅo̲̩̠̦̳̙r҉̘̫͉?̷̧̖̟̕** ” 

Dr. Iplier’s hands shook. The knife slipped through his fingers with a dull clang, muffled by the howling wind. “No. I’m not.”

  


  


“ **C̛͈̤̲̗̗̲̦̳̤͔͈̱͙̹̙̎̂ͣ̓ͩ̊ͯ̓ͤͧ́̅͐̌ͩ͘͘͝͝o̸͎̗͉̩͖͍̳̠̜̩̹̠̻̳̮̺̲̠͆̊͋̃͑̀ͨ̑̕͞w̶̷̫͚̲̭̮̫̗̥̫̏̽͒ͬ͊ͫ͋̔̂ͥ͊̈ͩ͊͒ͪ͘͠á̧͖͖̭̦̱̗̞͖̞͔͖̪̠̫̬̪͑͂ͤͪ̌͑ͪͯ͠r̵̆́̽̿ͥ̏ͥ̽̏̾̈́̚͏̴̱̯͚̜̳̳̟͇̞̹̲̱̬̗͞ͅd̵̦̠̘̝̫̬̦̉̉ͤ̓̕͡͝**.̷̢̧͈͎̹̝̦̠̯̣̪͎̝̪͔̼͙̜̀̂͋̓̂̒̈͛͌̉̚͟”  


  


Dr. Iplier looked straight into Dark’s face, feeling the rest of his strength leave him, and he knew. “I’d rather a die a peaceful piece of shit-bait, shame-filled coward,” he bit out, gritting his teeth. “But I’m not the killing type, Dark.”

“ **T҉̡̠̹̣̫h̩̩̖e̶̻͚͘n͔̰̤͞ ̵̨̱͎̦͖̘͖͍̥̫͘y̹̖͖͇̣͖ͅo͔ṵ̯͓̯͕͙̳͓͘'̢̯̹͓͍̬̰̦l̞̩̫̥͚̲͠͝l̸̫̯̰͜ͅ ̹̤̗̜̩d̻̲͈̠͖̥̯̥̕i̻̩̜̱̟͠͡e̵̸̹̰̬̫̹͎̭͔ ̙͕͘l̶̦̮̱͢͠ḭ̺̮͍͉̳̕k̛͇̘̜̠͔̱͇͎͚̕ḛ̷̢̖͈͕̰͎̰͍̖ ̱̖̬̦̝̜̩͚̥͝t̴̶̫̰̥̳̯̖h̢̹̺̣͜e̝̹͡ͅ ̨̙̗r̷̖͕̱̰̼e̡͓̲̰̮̝̹͎s̴̪̹̹̳͕͞ͅt̰̰̕ ͇̘̯̣̤̘͍̺͢o̫͙̦̘̙̹f̸̳̭͟͝ ̼̗̼t̶͈̺̻͔̮̠h̩͕͕e̘̯̘͚m̴͍̻̦̬̜̕**.̛̹̖̩̪͓͇͘͟” Dark glared down at him, letting his aura wrap around the two of them entirely.   


“I’d kill you if I thought it would fix anything,” Dr. Iplier whispered, sad now. “If it would make you feel something.”  


“ **I̟̰-̜̪̜̲̠̱͝-̸҉͏͍̹** ” Dark seemed to pause, his smile faltering for only a moment.    


“But I won’t.” Dr. Iplier was clinging to consciousness, holding on with slipping, burning fingers. “I’m not sorry, Dark.”  


And he let go. 


End file.
